


Easing Sleep

by Annie17851



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: F/M, Light Angst, season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 23:32:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7734055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annie17851/pseuds/Annie17851
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wes is missing Fred on her birthday; Illyria wants to help a bit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Easing Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Written when Angel season 5 was fresh; a little birthday gift for a friend back then.

Summary: Wes has been up all night.

 

“I can’t make heads or horny toads out of this, Angel,” Lorne complained, his green-hued skin eerily distracting in the dim light of the office, waving a hand artistically at the huge tome on the desk. One more prophecy to muddle through in the never-ending parade.

“We haven’t even been able to figure out what language it’s in, let alone figure out what it’s supposed to mean.” Gunn was equally at a loss. “We need Wes.”

“Wes isn’t here,” Angel stated quietly.

Gunn waved an arm in the general direction of ‘down the hall.’ “He’s just taking a nap in his office. Have Harmony stop preening for five seconds and buzz him.”

Angel looked up from his useless perusal of the strangely written pages and pinned Gunn with his deliberate gaze. “Wes isn’t here. He didn’t sleep at all last night. There will be no buzzing.”

Illyria rose from her seat in the corner, the dimness in the room a bit kinder to her sapphire markings than it had been to Lorne.

“This matter is of import? Why is Wesley to be coddled? Is he not an adult human?” Her blue eyes were directed toward Angel, the slim, leather-clad body poised as if to stride down to Wes’ office and drag him back to work.

Angel resisted rolling his eyes and went over to stand in front of her, uselessly blocking her way out of his office. If Illyria wanted out, the vampire wouldn’t be stopping her in any case.

“Illyria...Old One,” he began respectfully. “It’s just that...Wesley is...today would have been Fred’s birthday.”

Illyria’s head cocked minutely to the side as she considered this. “There is no longer a Fred. There is no longer a birth day,” she declared.

Angel raised a hand to indicate himself, Gunn and Lorne. “We know that, but it doesn’t change the fact that he misses her.”

“Charles Gunn misses the female. He is working. Futilely.”

Gunn sighed, turning his attention back to the prophecy. “You just don’t get it. You never will.”

“I will retrieve him.”

Illyria took a step toward the door and Angel stuck out his arm to stop her.

“This can wait, Illyria. Tomorrow will be soon enough.”

Silence for a few long moments, Angel wondering fleetingly if he was to be beheaded.

“It is for you to say.” She turned and went back to her chair in the corner. Considering. She considered for fully ten minutes before she rose from the chair again and left the office.

“Illyria...” Lorne began, but Angel stopped him. “Forget it. We need Wes anyway.”

Down the hall a bit and around the corner to the left. Illyria knew the way well, and she passed no one. Only Angel and his immediate minions would still be on this floor at this time of evening. She stopped outside the door to Wesley Wyndham-Price’s big office and laid her hands flat on the smooth wood, standing still, listening intently.

Breathing. Steady; exhausted.

Listened more intently. Troubled, beneath the sleep-breathing. Illyria closed her eyes, matched the cadence of Wes’ breaths with her own, stood there like a blue-hued statue of the god she once was, just breathing, concentrating, flat of her hands pressed tightly to the cool mahogany, warming it beneath her touch.

 

Wes was dreaming, black holes, blue-skinned demons to torment him and suddenly it was all gone; bright light, somehow soft even in its’ distinct whiteness, and the voice in his ear, her voice, Fred’s voice, whispering his name, smooth, warm hand caressing the side of his face, his throat, sliding across his chest to move lower, abdomen, hips, back up to his face; soft lips against his own, kissing, whispering, i’m here, i’m always here, my love, i could never be anywhere else.......

 

Minutes later, Illyria opened her eyes, listened with a satisfaction that didn’t show on her face, pulled her hands away from the door and went back to Angel’s office.

They were on the threshold of an argument when she entered, gliding imperially past them to reclaim the big chair.

“What did he say?” Gunn asked, glad to be momentarily distracted from his fruitless study of the old book.

“I did not wake Wesley. You did not wish it. Foolishly.”

Angel turned from the book and glared at her. “Is that a slam? We can do this, you know. Wes can double check our interpretation in the morning. We’ll have it by then. Won’t we?” he asked the other two.

“Oh, yea, we’re right on the verge of Rosetta-stoning this thing,” Lorne agreed.

A sound that might have been a derisive snort came from the depths of the corner.

It was only a few minutes later when the door opened again and Wesley walked in, all but rubbing his hands together in preparation for working on the mysterious language. “I got your memo, Angel. What have you found?”

His three partners looked up, slightly confused, and more than a little glad to see him.

“Are you okay, Wes?” Angel asked. “If you don’t feel like working tonight, we can get at this in the morning. I know this is a bad time......”

“Yes, it has been. But I feel a bit better just now. The sleep did me a world of good,” he replied, glancing into the dim corner, then pulling his eyes away deliberately.

 

Happy birthday, Fred, whoever you are.


End file.
